


Muina Nyarië Findëpalta Melindor

by tehhumi



Category: Glowfic and Related Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cuiviénen, Elves and Hair, First Time, Hair Braiding, Hair Kink, Hurt/Comfort, In-Universe RPF, M/M, Purple Prose, Written by a Noldo in Tirion during the Years of the Trees, analogy to injury of genitalia, elf hair is erogenous, except it's hair, field medicine for hair, no actual naughty bits on screen, tenderly caring for his wounds, the prelude to the Great Journey, there's nudity but the focus is on the hair, vaguely like Fuck or Die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24956725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehhumi/pseuds/tehhumi
Summary: Elwë recalled how many times he had thought about caressing his friend's tresses, but not like this! Finwë's moans were of pain, not pleasure, despite Elwë's best attempts to be gentle as he eased the knots from the shorter elf's raven locks.A story told in Tirion about the 'great friendship' of the King and Elwë, somehow without ever coming to the eyes of the King himself or the Valar, and with more copies ending up in bedrooms than in public libraries.AKA, in universe Elwë/Finwë hurt/comfort porn when elf hair is an erogenous zone.
Relationships: Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo/Finwë, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Muina Nyarië Findëpalta Melindor

**Author's Note:**

> Minya = an elf from the clan that would later become the Vanyar.  
> Tatya = an elf from the clan that would later become the Noldor.  
> Nelya = an elf from the clan the would later split into that Teleri, Sindar, Laiquendi, etc.  
> Other epithets I use for Elwë: the singer, the sailor, the taller elf, the silver-haired elf, ñgillendol (silver headed)  
> Other epithets I use for Finwë: the craftsman, the shorter elf, his friend, the dark-haired elf, ñoldandol (black haired one)  
> Ñgillendol and ñoldandol are in primitive elvish.  
> The title is Quenya for "secret gay hair-petting literature", a line from a story by lintamande, in which Maitimo laments that his grandfather is the most popular subject for homosexual erotica in Valinor.  
> Fassestámo is Quenya for "one who helps with tangled hair."

Findekáno was excited to read the new story by Awalde. It would be slightly awkward of course, being about his grandfather and Elwë of the Teleri, but by now Findekáno was very practiced at looking past that. Maitimo didn't understand his interest in the stories, but then Maitimo had only ever been lovers with Findekáno. He didn't understand the thrill Findekáno got from attending frowned-upon shows and exchanging meaningful looks with a stranger the whole time, followed by meaningless kisses afterwards. Findekáno was more cautious now that he was dating Maitimo, but the stories were a reminder of those forbidden kisses.

  
To be more precise, Maitimo had never been lovers with Awalde. Findekáno had. Awalde was a method writer. Some things that worked on the page were not practical to do in person, but a surprisingly large number of them were. Findekáno had helped with inspiration and with demonstrations for several of Awalde's stories. They'd even braided their hair together once and tried to have sex, though they were too overwhelmed with pleasure to actually line things up.

  
So Findekáno was going to read Awalde's latest story, and picture the poet in the throes of passion, still doing his best to remember every detail and begging for more so that the story would be perfect.

* * *

**_Fassestámo_ **

Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë followed Oromë to the supposed land of the gods. The Minya rode with Orome, having been the first to trust in the outsider and therefore the first to request the honor of riding his horse. Elwë and Finwë meanwhile walked together, helping each other over rough ground that Nahar didn't even notice.

  
After much such travel, they came across a river. Having dwelt always by Cuiviénen, the elves were glad of an opportunity to wash off the dust of the road. Ingwë, having traveled by horse rather than foot, had escaped the worst of the dirt and was quickly clean. Elwë and Finwë were more thoroughly soiled, and lingered longer by the water, glad to remove their traveling cloaks for the first time in days.

  
"What's wrong?" Elwë asked Finwë as the Tatya let out a muttered curse.

Finwë had been facing away from Elwë, but turned and stood quickly as the taller elf spoke. "Nothing, do not trouble yourself" he said, shivering in the knee-deep water.

"It would be no trouble at all to help a friend. Are you hurt?"

"Not as such" the craftsman replied with a blush. "It's just - embarrassing."

"We will be traveling with each other a long ways, and I have helped many with embarrassing situations when out on Helcar and a storm makes landfall too dangerous. Please, what troubles you?"

"It's - my hair. It's become somewhat tangled and I cannot see to untangle it; the river is too rough."

It was Elwë's turn to blush at that, but still he would not deny his friend his help.

Elwë gasped when Finwë finally turned around. The shorter elf's raven locks, normally stretching smooth and shining nearly to the ground, were completed snarled. There was no other word. It barely reached past Finwë's shoulder blades, so tangled on it was on itself, and the normal sleekness was impossible to recognize without how frazzled it was. It must have been pulling on the craftsman's scalp in nearly a dozen places; that he didn't scream in pain every time he turned his head was a testament to his amazing willpower.

"How bad is it?" Finwë asked softly.

"....Very bad," was the answer Elwë gave after a moment to collect his nerves. "Do you know it's knotted on itself to less than a quarter of its length?"

"I had feared so based on how it hit my back, though had hoped it but a simple loop. Do you think it can be unwound?"

"Perhaps, but I do not have the skill. I would hardly know where to start... Your hair is verging on matted," the ñgillendol answered, his voice fading to a whisper as he said the damning word.

Finwë swallowed at the pronouncement. "Then it is clear what I must do." He climbed back up onto the bank, and rather than stop for his clothes, began digging in his pack, not caring anymore that Elwë could see his degradation. The singer would see worse soon.

"What are you looking for? I can lend you another cloak for the journey back to Cuiviénen."

"Back? I'm not going back. I will go on, to learn of the Valar whatever they will teach us," said the Tatya, still searching his pack.

"But your hair... surely it is causing you pain? And it will only get worse if not cared for properly."

"So much pain I can hardly speak; I will not be fit to evaluate Valinor in this state. The solution is simple. I will cut it off."

Elwë gaped in horror as his friend brandished a knife, raising it in the air and seeming ready to start the process immediately, with no hand to hold or reflection to guide his aim. "There must be another way!" The silver-haired elf finally gained enough presence of mind to object.

"You said yourself my hair is near matted. If it cannot be fixed, there is to point in my enduring such pain."

"But to mutilate yourself so! And then to appear before the Powerful Ones in such a state?"

"The Tatyar will never trust the Powerful Ones if none of our own goes, and we are too far along the journey or any who leave now to catch up. Our crafters will not believe that a sailor and a poet asked the right questions. If I must mutilate myself to help my people, so be it." Finwë raised the knife again, which had fallen to his side as he spoke with the Nelya.

"Wait - please. I offered my help, and I meant it. Will you let me try to untangle your hair?" The sailor blushed even as he made the offer, but he cared too much for the craftsman to let him continue with such a terrible plan.

"I cannot ask such a thing from you."

"I am offering. Though I cannot promise to succeed, or not to hurt you."

"If you are willing, I would be most grateful," the ñoldandol acceded, and finally set the knife down.

The two elves positioned themselves back to front, Finwë seated nearly in the taller elf's lap. Elwë started slowly, his fingertips just brushing against the tightly furled locks. As he grew more confident, the sailor's fingers delved deeper, and Finwë bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain.

Elwë felt a great pang to be the cause of hurt in one so dear to his heart. "I am sorry, the water is not helping as much as I had hoped."

Finwë replied "I am fine, keep going."

"No, is there not something to ease the way?"

"I have oil in my pack, but it is meant for greasing axles and polishing jewelry, not this."

"It will be better than nothing; I do not wish to hurt you more than necessary."

Elwë stood up and fetched the oil. He removed his tunic before sitting back down behind Finwë, not wanting to get it dirty, and resumed his task.

Elwë recalled how many times he had thought about caressing his friend's tresses, but not like this! Finwë's moans were of pain, not pleasure, despite Elwë's best attempts to be gentle as he eased the knots from the shorter elf's raven locks.

The oil was helping some, Elwë's fingers gliding more smoothly. He found himself becoming lost in the rhythm, and the sensation of such long, luxurious strands running through his fingers. The silver haired elf cast his mind about for something to distract him, rather than reveal his reaction to this intimacy that was not truly freely offered.

"How did your hair get so badly tangled? We have not been journeying for that long."

"Just the vagaries of the road; don't trouble yourself," answered the ñoldandol.

"I have been journeying as long as you, and walking beside you every step of the way, but my hair has not suffered the same fate."

"Does it matter?" Finwë asked, "The remedy is the same, whatever the cause."

"You are dear to m heart, and have been harmed. I would seek recompense from whoever has done so."

"It was an accident; no harm was meant."

"One can be held accountable for a lack of caution," the taller elf countered, all but whispering in the shorter elf's ear as he leaned close to look at a knot nearly at the scalp. Finwë's hair that matched the sky and showed as few secrets was beautiful, but the shadows made it even more laborious to untangle.

"I do not wish to create ill-feeling, but will tell you if you ask it. It is only fair, after I ask such a great favor."

"Speak not of favors!" Elwë cried. "I am doing this to help you, and am not a cur, to ask payment for aiding a friend in distress."

"You have my thanks and gratitude whether you will it or no, Finwë replied firmly. "And the tale for how my hair became tangled is embarrassing, but simple enough. I fell down a small hill, rolling for much of the way. I did not wish to ask the Powerful One to stop merely for the sake of my vanity, and so pulled up my cloak until an opportunity to comb it appeared."

"When was this? As close as we have been travelling, I am surprised I missed such a thing befalling you."

"It was five days ago; your mind was on the terrain."

The ñgillendol was stunned by his friend's words. Five days ago Elwë himself had tripped at the top of a hill. Finwë had tried to pull him back to safety, but had the taller elf's weight had been too much and both had tumbled. Still the craftsman had done his best to protect the singer, pulling him close so that the Tatya took the brunt of the fal. They had eventually came to a stop pressed together from nose to hip, with Finwë against the ground. He had stood up readily enough at the time and assured the sailor that there were no bruises.

"So it is all my fault! If I had merely guarded my step, all your distress and fragility would have been avoided." Elwë tried to pull his hands away from his victim (however accidental), but one finger caught in the knot that was only half-undone. Finwë hissed in pain, and the silver-haired elf froze to avoid causing any further harm.

Finwë wished to shake his head and refute the argument, but they were far too tangled. "Nay. My foolish risk is on none but myself. I tried to help where it was unneeded, and am paying the price. Indeed, if I had not wanted -"

* * *

Findekáno heard footsteps coming down the hall - he would have to finish reading Awalde's tale some other time. He quickly tucked the story underneath a packet of letters from Maitimo, and then the packet in a drawer underneath the certificate of competence at pottery he had earned at age seventy-five. His own hair was disheveled where he had been playing with it while reading, but luckily he had not gotten as far as unbraiding it. He dived under the desk, taking off one of his rings as he did so.

"Findekáno?" King Finwë called. "May I speak to you?"

"Just a moment Grandfather," Findekáno replied, quickly straightening his clothing.

He stood up and opened the door. "Sorry. My ring had fallen off and rolled under the desk, it was awkward to retrieve."

Finwë looked at him. Findekáno was convincingly covered in dust, but the ring had the emblem of hose Fingolfin - it was square and would not roll more than a foot. "I was wondering whether you were planning to stay in the city awhile; there is a festival in a month's time that I think Maitim would appreciate help with."

"Dad mentioned something about going to Alqualonde for Artanis's begetting day, but that's not for three months yet. I'd love to help with the festival."

"There's a meeting about it in an hour, would you some background first?"

"That wold be very helpful, Grandfather, just give me a moment to tidy myself up."

"Of course."

Findekáno redid his braids with a little bit of annoyance. The one thing that could always ruin the mood of a good hairpetting story about ancient kings was being interrupted by his grandfather.

**Author's Note:**

> Noldor consider the Vanyar to be kind of ridiculous and overly focused on the Valar rather than their fellow elves.  
> In universe this fic would be considered Explicit, and rather kinky (it's basically fuck-or-permanent injury). Finwë suggesting he chop his hair off is slightly more extreme than suggesting he knock out all his teeth because they're infected and it will keep the infection from reaching his brain.  
> Finwë is considered a bit of a slut due to marrying twice, and the Noldor take ownership of this by spinning tales of his irresistibility. The Teleri sing bawdy sea shanties about Elwë and Finwë. The Vanyar go more for Song of Solomon esque poetry about Ingwe and his wife.  
> Awalde is Quenya for "excited one," courtesy of realelvish.net  
> This fulfills the "Pornography" square on my Season of Kink card.


End file.
